


Authorial Intent

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pseudonyms, mystery novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: Elliott writes books. Shane reads books.
Relationships: Elliott/Shane (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 25
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Authorial Intent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyphomandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyphomandra/gifts).



Elliott enters the saloon and hears a familiar voice.

That's not exactly an event without precedence, as anywhere he goes, there's a person, a voice, a smile he recognizes. It is the valley, after all.

This voice isn't even out of place in the saloon. Elliott wouldn't say hearing this voice is the _only_ reason he comes into the bar in the evenings, but if the voice wasn't here, maybe he'd come by less…

"The detective has some issues, but he's deep down a great guy. It's set in this tiny town on a small island, and the detective, when he's not detective-ing, he's got chickens. It's cute, but it's also really bright and witty. You'll like them, I swear. I have the first six, and there's a new one coming out soon. I'll lend you a couple."

Elliott has to duck his head to hide his smile, not that anyone was paying him lots of attention.

"Really? Small town, loves chickens, beer, and mysteries?" Abigail says. "That doesn't strike you as… familiar?"

Elliott bites his lip -- he'd sworn the librarian and the shopkeeper to secrecy when he dropped off the books, but Abigail spends lots of time at the library, and Pierre is her father… she may have gotten the real identity of the books' author from either of them.

But Shane just scoffs and Elliott all but sighs relief. "What, like you think they're supposed to be set in Pelican Town?"

"Just sounds like you, is all," Abigail says. Elliott sneaks a peek at them from under his shaggy bangs. She takes the mystery novel from Shane's hands.

Shane rubs the back of his neck, a movement Elliott's seen a hundred times but doesn't get tired of watching. "Nah, nothing like that. I'm not nearly as clever as Detective Prescott."

Abigail chuckles. "Guess not," she jokes and Shane laughs too. 

Elliott's been writing the mystery novels since he heard Shane liked them. The small town adventures of Detective Prescott, part time chicken fancier, part time crime solver. He had hoped Shane would recognize himself in the main character, but he's seven books into the series and he's running out of gentle clues.

Book eight, nearly finished now, features Detective Prescott getting a suitor -- a dark, mysterious novelist who lives on the beach and finds the detective very fascinating indeed.

If that doesn't work, Eliott's not sure what else he can try. Hitting Shane over the head with a hardback first edition, maybe. It's a little more pointed than he'd normally like, but thus far, subtlety seems to be lost entirely on Shane.

Elliott sips his drink and surreptitiously checks on Shane a few more times throughout the night. He's alone, but talks readily to anyone who speaks to him first. Shane looks introspective and after going to the bar and getting his second drink, he flips open a book and starts reading. Elliott can't tell if it's one of his or not.

Physically, it would be so easy to pick up his drink, march over to Shane's bench, and sit next to him. Elliott imagines he could strike up a conversation, chatting about life, the universe, and everything, maybe engage Shane in a friendly debate, something stimulating and enlightening in equal measure.

But Elliott's never been that man before, a man of action, capable of using people skills to achieve the relationships he wants. He relies on his wit, sympathetic ear, and soft, gentle persistence to win friends.

Book eight, _Detective Prescott and the Mysterious Writer,_ comes out a few weeks later, possibly the best in the series, if Elliott's any judge.

In the few short weeks after the book launches, Elliott replies to some fan mail, all addressed to his pen name forwarded to him through his publisher in Zuzu City. He's walking his finished letters to Pierre's, to go out in the next day's mail, when something catches his eye. The most exquisite bird with colourful plumage and a loud, captivating call. Elliott misjudges where he's stepping and tumbles over, right in the middle of the square. Letters fly in a flurry everywhere.

"Oh, damn," he says, gasping at the stinging pain in his skinned palms and knees. He chases after the flying letters on his scraped knees, wincing.

"Let me help," says Emily. The blue haired girl stoops to pick up a letter threatening to land in a puddle. "Hey, Shane, help us out here."

Shane steps in and grabs a few envelopes. Elliott takes them back from him and their hands brush together; Elliott can't quite meet his eyes, just in case he sees something there. Shane doesn't say anything, doesn't call out after him. Elliott makes it away free and clear, and it stings a little worse than his fresh wounds.

He all but forgets the incident and so when he hears the knock late one evening, he has no idea what to expect on the other side of his door.

Shane is standing on the beach, paperback copy of _Detective Prescott and the Chicken Snatcher_ clutched in his hands.

"Hey, uh…" he says, twisting his hands around the book.

"Hello. How are you?"

"I'm good. Great. I'm, uh, fine."

"All of the above?" Elliott's not able to contain his smile. Shane's not usually chatty, or at least not with Elliott, but to hear him stumbling is… endearing.

"Sorry," Shane says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Did you, um. You're a writer, right?"

"I am." Elliott tucks his hair behind his ear. He feels like he needs to say something more but Shane barges on.

"The writer of these books… Phineas MacGuffin. I don't know your last name to be honest, but it's not MacGuffin, right?"

"No, I doubt anyone's last name is MacGuffin. Sounds made up to me." Elliott's smile grows.

Shane doesn't notice, or misconstrues. "Oh. Sorry. Because I thought… The publisher's in Zuzu City, which isn't far, and Leah told me you like mysteries, and I thought maybe you… had something to do with these books."

"I meant that's definitely a made up name. It's called a nom de plume, a pen name. Authors use them all the time."

"There is no Phineas MacGuffin? It's a lie?"

"Well, my middle name is Phineas. It's not a total lie."

Realization dawns slowly over Shane's features. "So… you did write these?"

Elliott's never been sure what he planned to do if and when Shane found him out. He didn't think he'd feel so exposed, but here he was. He could easily take a step backwards and shut and lock the door, but with Shane's big, brown eyes looking at him for some kind of answer, he can't bring himself to hide any more.

"I did."

Shane moves to take a step forward but aborts it, just kind of lurching where he stood. "For me?"

Elliott huffs a small laugh. "I sort of hoped they'd have more than an audience of one, but if we're being honest here… Are we being honest?"

"Yes," Shane says instantly.

"I did write them with a particular person in mind."

"Me?"

"You want me to say it?" Elliott asks.

"Yes. Please."

_Please_ undoes him. Elliott sighs, wistful and sincere. "For you."

Shane does step forward then, closing the space between them down to mere inches. "Why?"

"Lots of reasons. To see if you'd read them, then to see if you'd like them, or notice what I was doing. Wrote them a little for the paycheque; my publishers love books like this. Wrote them because there's not a lot of good queer mystery fiction."

"Are you…?"

Elliott confirms. "And you are too?"

Shane's looking at his beat up shoes, not at Elliott. "Yeah, but I don't… not many people know. How did you?"

"Just had an inkling. Wrote an eight book series trying to figure out if I was right."

"What do you mean, eight books?" Shane says, head snapping up and suddenly much more animated. "You mean there won't be any more? 

Elliott laughs, loud and delighted. "You think there should be more?"

"You ended eight on such a cliffhanger! We don't know the mysterious writer's name, or if Prescott's going to catch Lester the Killer before time runs out on the silver pocket watch, or who stole Petunia's wedding ring from her casket! Prescott and the writer didn't even kiss yet!"

"They can kiss," Elliott confirms. "But the writer is shy. Prescott would have to go first."

Shane blushes magenta, visible even in the dim light from the seaside torches. " _Oh._ "

Elliott holds up his hands. "I didn't mean --"

"I know what you meant. I just…" Shane trails off, starts fiddling with the dog eared corner of the book in his hands. "I've never. Anything."

"We don't have to --"

Shane leans in and kisses him, soft and sweet, not touching Elliott otherwise. His hands are still clutching the novel and he angles his body away from Elliott. The kiss is chaste, but lingering.

Elliott has to reach out and grip the doorframe to keep from going weak at the knees.

"Write book nine," Shane says, voice quiet and sort of dazed. "I need to know what happens next."

"I could give you an advanced copy," Elliott offers. He'd offer a whole lot more, but he wants to savour every step.

Shane laughs. "I'd like that. Or maybe you could read me an excerpt one night."

"Anything," Elliott agrees, and damn, that gives away a bit too much. Shane doesn't notice, just smiles genuinely and nods.

"I've got an early morning," Shane says, finally moving away from Elliott and retreating down the beach.

"Get along then. And good night. Thank you for coming by."

"I'll see you soon?" Shane asks, walking backwards.

"I hope so. I'd like that."

Elliott shuts the door only when Shane's out of sight, sighing like a schoolgirl and leaning against the rough wood. He's got to get started on his next book.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the beta-read Toshi!
> 
> Happy Chocolate Box, Cyphomandra! Thanks for the great prompt!


End file.
